Appreciating Anna
by elsayoustinker
Summary: Elsanna, post-movie. In which it's Anna's turn to be insecure, and the queen realises some Anna appreciation time is long overdue.


The little crimson licks of flame crackle and pop distantly in Elsa's ears as they die in the fireplace. She struggles to stay awake, thumbing line after line so the words don't blur together and slip off the page. It's a book about the history of Arendelle and its past rulers - which she would normally find gripping, she's just had a trying day packed to the brim with meetings and signing treaties and decrees, among other things she really doesn't want to recall to the hazy forefront of her mind at present. She can't even muster up the energy to rekindle the fire, which by now has dwindled to scraps of wood, pulsing with the last vestiges of heat, let alone concentrate on the text before her.

Her eyelids droop close for the thousandth time, and she gives up, letting her head drop back onto the smooth velvet of the library couch she's seated on, the book slipping out of her slackened grasp and thudding to the floor, masking the soft pad of footsteps announcing her sister's arrival. She vaguely registers soft, warm fingers touching her cheek, before she hears the fire burst to life again; someone's at the fireplace, tending to it.

"You know I don't mind the cold." She yawns, shifting, watching her sister's petite figure bent over the fireplace with half-lidded eyes. Elsa doesn't say anything else to stop her, however; Anna will stay in this room as long as she herself stays, and the former does in fact mind the cold.

"Yeah, but you need the light to read," whispers Anna, coming over to where she is. Elsa sits up groggily, not bothering to correct her (she's always going to put Anna's interests before her own whether Anna's aware of it or not), making room for her, and Anna squeezes herself in between the queen and the cushion that served as a makeshift bed.

She positions her thumbs betwixt Elsa's shoulder blades and applies pressure, her other fingers coming up to rub at Elsa's shoulders. The queen sighs and relaxes into her hands, her muscles loosening and unknotting.

"I don't think I'll be doing any more of that tonight."

Anna kisses the base of Elsa's neck in reply, her nose skimming where pale blonde hair meets paler skin. Her warm breaths puff out against Elsa's skin, and Elsa shivers, letting her eyes flutter close again; it's just like Anna to make everything better even by doing something as simple as this. The redhead's arms slip around Elsa's waist, her chin dropping to rest on her bare shoulder, holding her from behind. Elsa allows herself a sleepy smile, content.

Just as she's starting to nod off again, Anna pipes up, "Can we sleep here like this?"

Eyes still shut, Elsa murmurs, "No, sweetheart, we can't."

She envisions the face Anna makes into her shoulder, nose scrunched up and eyebrows pulled together, like a petulant child, and chuckles softly.

"Why not?"

"Because in the morning both our backs will be sore, and your nose will probably be squashed from me putting my weight on it while sleeping."

She feels Anna pout. "Fine, then. My room or yours?"

"Later. I have this mess to clean up." Elsa frowns momentarily at the thought, but reminds herself that she was the one who created it in the first place, after all.

"Mess - oh." Anna tuts, giving the pile of books by the couch a once-over. "Queen Elsa, being _disorganised?_"

Elsa grumbles in a distinctly un-queenly fashion, pinching Anna's hands around her midriff without any real conviction. (Anna makes a noise of complaint anyway.)

She feels her sister begin to ease herself out of their position, and twists so she can look at her questioningly. Anna lays a brief kiss on her lips, then locks gazes with her, her blue eyes earnest and reassuring. "You're always taking care of us both; let me take care of you."

Elsa softens and looks at her gratefully, then succumbs to her drowsiness for the second time. She hears the rustle of pages as Anna retrieves the book that she dropped earlier, and the soft stacking of leather-bound volumes as they're collected and brought over to the bookshelves, before she slips into a state of half-consciousness, completely drained from the day's events.

She doesn't get very much sleep before she's rudely jolted out of it by a little shriek, followed by the muffled sound of books crashing to the carpeted floor. Her eyes fly open in alarm and she rushes to her sister's side, all previous traces of sleepiness vanishing. Anna is crouched amidst the mess, arms braced over her head, shielding herself.

After quickly affirming that her sister has not suffered any injury, Elsa smiles, rolling her eyes in exasperated affection. She stretches out a hand, ready to pull Anna to her feet, but stops short abruptly when she sees Anna looking away, biting her lip, her eyes shuttered and downcast.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"I really can't do anything right, can I?" the redhead says in a small voice.

"What?" Elsa frowns, picking her way over to her sister. Her icy gown pools around her as she kneels next to Anna and takes her face gently into her hands. "Don't be silly, of course you can -"

"I mean it, Elsa," Anna blurts. Her bottom lip quivers, and Elsa knows she's on the brink of shedding tears that she'll attempt to hold back but will fail anyway. Anna blinks at her, covering her hands with her own warm palms, and Elsa realises belatedly that the surrounding temperature has started to drop. She forces herself to focus on the comforting feel of Anna's skin on her own, and it helps a little.

"I can't even do a little thing like this - I'm just so _clumsy_ - I was trying to let you have your rest, you looked so exhausted, but I woke you up as well -" Anna looks devastated, the tremble evident in her voice now, having alluded to one of her biggest fears: that no matter how much she insists she can help, how much she _tries_ to help, she'll always be a liability to the older sister she so loves and adores.

Elsa can see this plainly in her eyes (Anna does wear her heart on her sleeve), and she stares for a moment, simply because she can't believe Anna is doubting herself. Beautiful Anna, with hair as fiery and vivid as her personality; beautiful Anna, with freckles dotting the sun-kissed skin of her cheeks and shoulders; Anna, who takes the queen's breath away when she flits to and fro frolicking in meadows that are nowhere near as striking as the turquoise irises that sparkle as they take in the foliage and wildlife. Anna, who punched a prince of the Southern Isles for her. _Anna,_ who all but saved her, and more importantly, their kingdom, by hurling herself in front of said prince's sword.

Anna, who would go to the ends of the earth (read: the North Mountain) for her, who doesn't lose faith in her when it seems everyone else does, and who is often the reason why Elsa finds the strength to even wake up in the morning with a crammed schedule ahead of her. (Recently, though, this has begun to take on a more literal meaning - Elsa finds waking up _much_ more pleasant when it is to the sight of flaming, adorably tousled red hair draped across a bare, freckled back.)

Elsa only notices that she's been silent for longer than is appropriate when Anna drinks in what must seem to her like an assessing gaze and swallows, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes; it's rare for the normally headstrong redhead to look so unsure of herself. "Elsa?" she says quietly.

Instead of questioning her insecurities any further, which will only serve to make both of them more upset, Elsa settles for taking her left arm, one of two that is riddled with quickly forming bruises and the occasional paper cut; the unfortunate consequence of standing beneath an onslaught of raining books. She proceeds to kiss her way down the lithe limb, treating it with the utmost care, her lips gently whispering across Anna's skin, soothing each blemish. She switches arms with the full intention of bestowing the same treatment onto Anna's right arm, and is just reaching the crook of Anna's elbow when her sister's voice stops her.

"Elsa?" Anna looks confused, but at least she looks more confused than pensive now. "What are you doing?"

"Don't _ever_ belittle yourself like that again," Elsa murmurs into her skin. "Promise me."

"But I -"

"You're perfect the way you are, Anna. I don't want someone less clumsy, or someone who does everything the right way. I love _Anna_. Every inch of her." Still clasping Anna's hand in hers, she moves to tuck a stray lock of crimson behind an ear.

Elsa can sense Anna's scepticism, and can see that she's about to let the matter go for the sake of placating her older sister, so she decides to show her instead of just trying to convince her verbally. She continues trailing kisses down Anna's arm, lingering over her pulse point, letting the soft thrum of Anna's lifeblood beat against her lips; it is the sound that sometimes empowers her, knowing that Anna is still alive, still going to be there for her.

She continues on to Anna's fingers, something she didn't do while nursing her left hand, and touches her lips to each knuckle of the hand that once connected painfully with Hans' jaw. She glances up, locking gazes with Anna, who is staring back at her, flushed.

_Good._ Gratified, Elsa smiles. Her thumb moves to cruise over her sister's cheeks, paying special attention to the places especially speckled with freckles. Anna's always bemoaned them, saying she'd much rather have subtler marks, like the ones that litter Elsa's own cheeks, but Elsa finds them adorable, and she can't see how anyone would ever think otherwise.

Tugging Anna closer, she kisses her for a long moment, then whispers into her ear, "You remind me of fire."

Anna is understandably horrified. "But fire _melts_ ice -"

"Fire warms ice," Elsa corrects her. "Fire is daring and bold; it leaps to heights few dare to scale."

"But also reckless," her sister notes softly, and Elsa kisses her gently again.

"Reckless is what saved my life. Reckless is what brought back summer. Reckless is what reunited us. It isn't always bad."

Elsa's words elicit the first genuine smile of Anna's evening. The heat from the fire continues to manifest itself in her pink-tinged cheeks, giving her countenance a healthy glow; Elsa feels her heart stutter in response. Her own lips curl into a smile and she shakes her head, wondering at the effect Anna has on her, and even more at how unaware the latter is of it.

The redhead's eyes light up mischievously. "Is fire _hot?_"

Elsa pokes her nose in playful rebuke, but her smile broadens - if Anna feels fit to ruin the moment, it means she's feeling much better - and she replies firmly, "Fire possesses a radiant beauty, Anna."

"So, hot, right?"

"Scorching," the queen deadpans.

"And what - what about you? What is fire to you?" Anna asks, back to being serious, her eyes tinged with uncertainty once more, a look that Elsa never wants to see again.

"To me?" Elsa hums in thought, tucking her sister's head under her chin so that Anna rests in the hollow of her neck. The redhead fingers her delicate collarbone reverently, the warm digit tracing searing patterns of heat across her alabaster skin. She tips her head back in response, eyes sliding shut.

When she opens them, she has her answer. It's obvious, really, albeit a little embarrassing to say. "You are the fire that fuels me," she proclaims. "You lend your joy, your energy and courage to everyone you meet, Anna. They're very infectious."

Elsa gasps, taken by surprise, when Anna pulls back and crushes her lips to her own in a passionate kiss that leaves her head spinning. "I love you so much," her sister whispers, her lips brushing Elsa's with every syllable.

She smiles and kisses the top of Anna's head. "Me too, sweetheart."

"Well, I love you _more_."

"Are we really going to quarrel about this? You're forgetting who has the ice powers here."

"Nuh-uh. I'm fire girl, remember? I have heat on my side." Anna casts her a devilish grin. Elsa is about to roll her eyes and retort she meant the _qualities_ of fire, not actual powers, but stops as she feels Anna's hands on her thighs, her touch burning through the thin layer of her ice gown.

Oh. Those powers.

Elsa shoos Anna's hands away before she can get too flustered, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands. The redhead laughs gaily, before settling down in the crook of Elsa's neck again with a satisfied little sigh.

"Thank you, Elsa." The words fan out across Elsa's clavicle in a rush of warm breath. "For being patient with me, I mean."

The queen recalls a time when day after day warm hands would tug her gloves insistently off and kiss after kiss would be laid on the tips of her fingers, blue eyes gazing at her with nothing but trust and love. She used to don those gloves (she had a new pair tailored after the events following her coronation) during meetings and balls just to be on the safe side, and her sister was always the most vocal about how much she loathed the practice. (Now, they reside in a chest that remains locked away in her bottommost drawer, a mere reminder of what she once went through.)

"No, Anna," she breathes, "You've always been so patient with me; now let me be patient with you."


End file.
